


40 good reasons

by Drifting_clouds



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drifting_clouds/pseuds/Drifting_clouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fool is the man standing between Kimi and his bottle. Old story, reposted here so I won't end up losing it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chronicles of the walking green man

Part One: The chronicles of the walking green man (aka no good deed goes unpunished)

It was a surprisingly cool evening in Kuala Lumpur, with no trace of the gentle drizzle that had fallen almost non-stop for the better part of the afternoon. Shivering in his light jacket, the man left the club and looked around in search of a taxi that would bring him back to his hotel. He immediately noticed the small line of cars parked along the kerb, right beside the entrance. One of the drivers gestured at him and asked him where he was headed.

“Mark!” Someone behind him called before he could answer. “Hey!”

When he turned, he noticed David walking slowly toward him, a hand hooked around another man’s arm, half dragging and half pushing him along. When the second person staggered, he didn’t fall flat on his face only because the Scot used his other hand to timely grab the back of his jacket.

“Heading back to the hotel?” Inquired Coulthard.

Nodding curtly, Webber eyed an obviously drunk Kimi Räikkönen trying to follow the conversation going on around him, a bottle of vodka still clutched in his free hand. Grinning dumbly at the scrutiny, the Finn muttered something and weakly attempted to break free from David’s hold. The Scot grimaced and let go of him.

“Do you mind-”

“As a matter of fact, yes I do.” Mark heaved a sigh. “Look, there’s plenty of taxis around. Can’t we simply put him in the next one?”

“Come on! Be a good chap and take care of the man! And remember that car sharing is good for the environment.”

“If he pukes on me, I’ll kill you.”

“Duly noted, but I’m sure he’s going to behave.” Shrugging, Coulthard offered him a lopsided grin, “Aren’t you… hell, where is he now?”

They found Kimi slouched on the sidewalk with his head cocked to one side as he studied the pedestrian crossing light with the utmost attention. When it changed to green, Räikkönen turned toward them, forehead scrunched up in concentration, and muttered something about the little walking man being obviously tipsy and tilting to one side. Mark crouched down next to the blond driver and simply sat him up straight.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” Kimi frowned. “Do I know you?”

“He’s the poor bastard who’s going to drag your sorry ass back to the hotel and put you to bed,” David explained as he yanked his former team-mate to very unsteady feet.

Kimi blinked twice then, all of a sudden, drunkenly wrapped an arm around Mark’s neck and tried to kiss him. The Australian let out a shocked yelp and moved backward, desperately trying to put some distance between them. But Kimi didn’t seem on planning to give up and tried again. This time, Webber smacked him none too gently on the forehead with the palm of his hand, effectively sending him stumbling backward. At that point David was laughing too hard to be of any real help.

“You’d better get going,” the Scot managed to gasp in between giggles, as Kimi once again clung to Mark and immediately started to keel over, basically forcing the Australian to slide an arm around his waist to support him. “Before the good man there decides that you’re too strange and leaves you stranded here.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” Mark told his team-mate, before dragging Räikkönen toward the car.

It took him all the help David could offer plus a lot of luck (and a bit of swearing) to actually push Kimi into the backseat without seriously harming him. Once he was satisfied with the result, Mark slid in beside the other man, keeping as far away from him as the old vehicle allowed.

“Do. Not. Move.” He ordered Räikkönen.

Kimi stared dazedly at him.  
Ignoring a still grinning Coulthard waving goodbye, Webber gave the cab driver directions back to the hotel, then leaned back on the seat with a tired sigh. Since no sound was coming from Kimi’s direction, the Australian cast a furtive glance at the blond driver, but the Finn looked like he was out cold, his head resting uncomfortably against the window. Nodding to himself, Webber relaxed and let his mind wander back to the afternoon’s race. His car had lived to see the chequered flag. Which was good. And he’d scored two points. Which was even better. It was then that his sixth sense kicked in, telling him that something was about to happen. Turning his head to take a look at Kimi, he was startled to discover that Räikkönen had silently moved along the backseat and was now leaning toward him.

“Hi.” The Finn whispered.

“Hi,” Mark mumbled, “anything I can do for you?”

“I want to kiss you.”

“Anything BUT that?”

The other man giggled and kept staring at him, his eyes shining in the dim light of the taxi.  
“I’m drunk.” Kimi nodded, mostly to himself, “And I really want to kiss you.”

“Well, I really want to win the championship, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen either.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

It was then that Webber knew without a doubt that the ten minutes trip back to the hotel was about to turn into a nightmare. Beside him, Räikkönen impatiently tapped his fingers on the bottle of vodka then twisted the plastic cap open, taking a swig.

“Want some?” He asked Mark.

“No.” Eyes watering at the strong smell of alcohol, the Australian wrenched the bottle from Kimi’s hand, “And given the circumstances, I believe you’ve had more than enough too.”

“Give it back!” Growled the other man. “It’s mine!”

“No!”

Though he was expecting a reaction, Räikkönen pouncing on him still came as a surprise. Raising the bottle above his head to avoid the attack, Mark barely dodged a flailing hand that came within inches from his face while Kimi tried to climb on him, wrapping the other arm around his neck in a loose chokehold. The struggle quickly turned into a wrestling match, much to the cab driver’s disbelief. Disbelief quickly became concern for his safety as Kimi accidentally kicked the back of the man’s seat with enough strength to make it rock.

“If you don’t stop now, I’m going to have to ask you to get off my taxi,” warned the driver. His protest, though, lacked the heated vehemence one would expect from the situation. Foreign tourists were usually wealthy and those two fighting in the backseat certainly looked stupid enough to earn him a good tip.

Head snapping toward the cab driver, Webber stopped mid motion to apologize. Finally seeing the opening he needed, Räikkönen tangled a hand in Mark’s hair, while with the other he took hold of the Australian’s jacket, effectively trapping the other man. Frowning at the strange move, Mark didn’t have time to object because the Finn roughly pulled him forward, their lips meeting in a rather sloppy kiss.

“Aha!” Kimi crowed when he pulled back to stare at the Australian.

“Nice diversion.” Webber shrugged, looking rather unfazed, “but you’ll have to do better than that if you hope to recover your one true love here.”

Smile widening, the blond merely tightened his hold on Mark’s hair, ready for a second attack. When it came, it pushed them backward with enough force that the Australian smacked his head against the window.

“Ah!” Webber complained softly, as he rubbed the sore spot.

“Are you okay down there, mister?” Inquired the taxi driver who now looked almost completely focused on what was happening on his backseat.

Just keep your fucking eyes on the road, the Australian thought as Kimi succeeded in snatching the vodka, only to spill half of the contents on himself. I’m really not looking forward to explaining my boss why we ended up wrapped around a street lamp because someone was enjoying the show a bit too much.

“That’s it!” He said out loud. “Get off me!”

And since Räikkönen failed to comply, Mark pushed the other man sideways. It wasn’t a particularly strong shove, but the cramped space and Kimi’s poor balance sent the man falling into the space between the front and the back seats with a frustrated mewing. More vodka spilled before Kimi could find the plastic cap. Hissing something in his mother tongue, Räikkönen cleaned a sticky hand on the front of his shirt with a disgusted glare.

“You know, there’s probably no point in insulting someone, if they can’t understand a word you’re saying.”  
Kimi glared at him.

“I said I’m not feeling so well,” he muttered.

Mark just raised an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to stop?” Inquired the taxi driver.

“No.” The Finn mumbled. He looked at Webber, “Would you please help me up?”

Whether he felt sorry for the other man or he simply feared that Räikkönen might really throw up on his shoes, the Australian grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him back up on the seat. For a rather long moment, Kimi vacantly stared into space, then his body slumped sideways until he came to lean against Mark. When five minutes later they reached the huge hotel where the majority of the F1 teams were staying, the Finn had apparently dozed off, his forehead resting somewhere on Mark’s cheek and the rest of his body twisted in a very uncomfortable looking position.

“We’re here,” Mark said, but Kimi remained pretty much dead to the world.

Gently disentangling himself from the Finn, Webber looked at the slumbering man for a moment, then slid a hand inside the pocket of Räikkönen’s jacket to retrieve his wallet. Counting the money, he took enough to pay for the ride and for a very good tip, then he put it back.

“I’m really sorry.” Mark told the cab driver as he absently gestured toward Kimi, “usually he’s nowhere this affectionate.”

“Oh, believe me, mister,” the other man said cheerfully, taking the wad of bills with a satisfied grin, “I’ve seen stranger things.”

Webber didn’t feel reassured, but decided against saying anything.


	2. Cry wolf

Kimi had roused himself after he’d been hauled out of the taxi and now wobbled unsteadily beside Mark as they made their way to the reception. The elegant lady sitting in front of the computer smiled politely at them, her smile never faltering even after Räikkönen planted a kiss on Mark’s neck only to ask her out two seconds later. Webber collected both their magnetic key cards (mostly because at that point Kimi seemed convinced that his name was Mika Kovalainen) and dragged the Finn toward the elevator. When the doors slid open, Kimi walked inside and leaned back against the wall. On the opposite side of the elevator, Mark pushed one of the buttons and turned as well. In the quiet of the cabin, the two of them simply stared at each other for a while as the elevator rolled smoothly upwards. Suddenly, the Finn smiled and stretched out a hand.

“I believe you owe me forty dollars.”

Heaving a sigh, Mark took his wallet, counted out four notes and handed them to the other man.

“Thank you.”

“What a stupid game,” complained the Australian.

“Said the one who set the rules!” Moving silently, any trace of drunkenness completely gone, Kimi came to stand beside the Australian. “And they were rather simple… I had to kiss you, you had to keep me from doing that. You didn’t succeed so acknowledge your defeat and bow before the world champion.”

When Webber rolled his eyes, Kimi grasped his hand and gently tugged it.

“You must admit that pretending to be drunk was a good plan,” he said.

“A bit predictable, maybe,” the Australian conceded with a smile, “but it gave you the chance of doing what you wanted without attracting too much attention… well, except of course for that little mishap with Timo.”

Räikkönen shrugged.

“I really don’t get why he was so upset with me.”

“Indeed. Who would have thought that spilling a jug of cold wine on someone’s groin would make people so cranky? Though it might have been because you actually tried to grope the man while pretending to help him clean up…”

“Didn’t you just love the look on his face? But it really was an accident… I was aiming for your team-mate.”

Mark quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh, so it was David you wanted to grope.”

“What? No!” Räikkönen spluttered, making the Australian chuckle, “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it!”

Once again they lapsed into silence, standing there with their shoulders touching and their fingers entwined, both lost in their thoughts. The Finn took another sip of vodka, then closed his eyes with a contented sigh.

“Kimi?”

“Hmm?”

“Wasn’t the stupid bet about drivers?” Mused Webber.

“Something like that, yes.”

“So kissing me in front of the lady at the reception doesn’t really count, right?”

“I guess not.”

Mark nodded.

“Then I want my money back.”

Räikkönen gave him twenty dollars.

Before they could say anything else, the doors opened and a little hall greeted them with its twin elegant armchairs, the small table with a vase of flowers and the huge oval mirror hanging behind it. The silence was broken by someone talking on the phone in hushed tones, the voice drifting closer as the other person moved toward the elevator. The slight frown on his face turned into a grin as the Finn saw his team-mate appear on a corner of the mirror. Mark noticed him too and promptly dismissed Felipe. At least until he glanced at Räikkönen. Kimi seemed to read his mind because his smile widened even more as he launched himself at the Australian, roughly wrapping an arm around him and kissing him passionately (at the same time masterfully snatching the money Webber still held in his hand).

“Yes I know that but… but oh my God my obviously drunk team-mate is making out in the elevator with one of my fellow drivers!” Massa squeaked, then rolled his eyes. “Yes. A male fellow driver. Seriously, have you ever heard of girls in F1? Yeah, okay, but wasn’t that, like, fifteen years ago or something? Err listen, I have to go. I’ll call you back… no, I won’t tell you who he was doing mouth-to-mouth to!”

Turning his face so that Felipe couldn’t see him, Kimi winked at Webber. The Australian huffed and let go of the other man, letting Räikkönen fall to the floor.

“Man, I’m-” He started to say.

“No wait, let me guess… this idiot here was out celebrating and probably had two or three dozen drinks too many.” Massa rolled his eyes as he studied his team-mate who sat there, calmly returning the stare.

“I’m not drunk.” Kimi said.

“Something like that.” Mark nodded, completely disregarding Räikkönen, “But I’m glad you’re here. I’ll sleep better knowing that someone will take care of him.”

“Stop being such an ass.” The Finn glared at Mark. “And tell him I’m not drunk.”

Once again he got ignored.

“And I would do that because?” Asked Felipe.

“Oh, you know, team spirit or whatever they call it nowadays… plus I seriously doubt that your boss would be too thrilled to discover that some paparazzi took pictures of one of his drivers (“Their number one driver”, clarified Kimi, earning himself an irritated glare in return) passed out on the floor. And also because I already dragged his sorry ass here… and you saw what it got me.”

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Kimi tried to get up, but Massa pushed him down once again without even looking at him.

“Yeah, but, what if he tries to kiss me too?”

“Oh God.” Räikkönen made a face at the suggestion. “Like that’s ever going to happen.”

Webber coughed and suddenly found great interest in straightening the magazines piled up on the small table. Fortunately for him, though, the Brazilian was too busy glaring daggers at his team-mate to notice anything else.

“Punch his lights out. That should stop him.”

“Felipe.” The Finn explained through gritted teeth as he eventually scrambled to his feet. “Do you really think I drank so much that I can’t tell a man from a woman? I kissed Mark because I wanted to and he was acting all shocked when he saw you because he was trying to spare you the trauma. Oh, and by the way, sometimes we sleep together. And by sleeping I don’t mean…”

“Sorry about that,” rolling his eyes, Massa snatched the bottle of vodka and handed it to the Australian, “it would appear that someone really had more than his share for tonight.”

Then he tried to slide an arm around the Finn’s waist, but the other man stated that he could walk and shrugged it off. Obviously Felipe didn’t listen and after a bit of wrestling, he managed to get a hold of his team-mate, and started to drag him toward his room. Once again, Kimi disentangled himself from Felipe and launched himself at Mark, casting him a pleading look.

“Fifty dollars if you kiss him,” whispered the Australian.

No way. Kimi mouthed. _Not for less than a hundred_.

“Goodnight guys.” Webber said with a shrug, waving the bottle in a mock salute. “See you in Bahrain.”

The Finn huffed, but then he lowered his head to hide his grin from the other man. _Oh, I believe you will see me sooner than you imagine_ , he thought as he patted the pocket where he’d put the forty dollars along with the key card he’d snatched from Mark. The last thing the Australian heard as the elevator door closed in front of him, was the outraged cry of Felipe telling his team-mate to keep the fuck away from him.

THE END


End file.
